


Awakenings

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Of Metal and Memories: Charles Xavier x Erik Lehnsherr [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Mutation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-16
Updated: 2012-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-12 06:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik and Charles discover new insights into each other's abilities, even as Erik tries to hide his attraction to Charles.  Charles doesn't make it easy for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Erik doesn’t know quite what to do with Charles. Every time he tries to hold back, to barricade his emotions, keep from trusting the other man, Charles is there to shatter his defenses with a needle-sharp observation or a knowing smile. Erik wonders if it’s as easy for Charles as it appears; he so often looks perfectly innocent.

But sometimes Charles looks at him, really looks at him, and Erik sees the world in all its starkness and horror reflected in those blue eyes, in the lines of Charles’ face. He can’t bear the weight of those expressions for long, though he wishes he was strong enough to look into Charles’ eyes, and hold the gaze.

For some time Erik has known, despite his efforts to resist it, that he is experiencing feelings for Charles that are something different than friendship. It makes him nervous. He remembers the treatment that men who loved other men received in the concentration camps, and for a long time, he had tried to resist those fleeting feelings of attraction he had experienced now and then to other men. He had tried women, certainly; furtive one-night stands, prostitutes. But the excursions were always awkward and ultimately unsatisfying. He had had to admit that he simply didn’t seem to be made for them. Admitting that to oneself, however, was an entirely different idea than admitting it to another man, especially a man who, Raven had told him, made a habit out of bar hopping and propositioning lovely women.

So he files away those feelings in a dark corner of his mind. He is grateful for Charles’ friendship, and pleased, incredibly pleased, to work with someone who understands him and yet views him without revulsion or mistrust. He is intrigued, too, by Charles’ mutation, and wishes to learn more about it. The other feelings, he decides, are simply a foolish indulgence that he needn’t bother Charles with. He prays that Charles holds up to his agreement to not read his mind again without permission.

\-------------

They are traveling to seek out the first of the mutants Charles has found with the aid of Cerebro. Charles is excited, jabbering in the train car about the girl. “I couldn’t get a complete sense of her ability, Erik, but there’s something to do with some kind of organic compound and I _think_ I even saw _wings_!”

Erik chuckles. “Wings? You really believe that there are those of us out there who can fly?”

“Well, why not?” Charles asks, settling back against his seat, resting his arms on the seat back. “What do you find so far-fetched about it? After all, Raven can exert conscious control over the appearance of every single cell in her body; I can read and manipulate human minds; and you, my friend, play with metal through some completely invisible means. How do any of us do what we do? It all comes down to the X-gene, and if you want my opinion, I believe it could be limitless.”

“I’ll always want your opinion, Charles,” says Erik, grinning a little at the passion in Charles’ face. “You make a fair point. Until we find more mutants and begin to understand how they have been affected, we must suppose that anything is possible.” He glances out of the window, watching the countryside roll past; the hills are lush and green this time of year.

“Speaking of anything being possible,” says Charles, causing Erik to pull his gaze away from the scene outside. “I was thinking about your power earlier today. The way you fought in the water with the boat chains, it was inspiring. But it was also extraordinarily difficult for you to do, and indeed, you nearly succumbed when trying to raise the submarine.”

“Yes,” Erik admitted, rankling at the truth of it. “It was too large. I was – overcome. I couldn’t concede that I was so close to Shaw, and that I had failed to kill him; I was enraged. If I had been calmer I would never have tried it. It was – is – beyond me.”

Charles, who had winced at the word _kill_ , holds up a finger and shakes it. “That’s where you’re wrong. When I felt you that night, I could feel how difficult it was for you; but I could also tell that you were not able to utilize your gift completely. There are deep, deep wells of ability in you that you have never tapped, Erik.” His eyes are piercing, and he leans forward in his seat. He rubs at his chin with one hand, resting his arm on his knee. Erik, half unconsciously, leans in to reduce the gap between them.

“I train constantly,” Erik says. “Hunting down Shaw, the others; there were a lot of dead ends, a lot of time to fill. I don’t know what else I could do to improve.”

“I have some ideas. Your gift fascinates me,” says Charles frankly, and Erik feels a hint of a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth, feeling a faint sense of pride. “I want to do what I can to help you hone it. What Shaw did to you was repulsive, and what’s more – it didn’t really unlock your ability, not truly. When I look at you –“ He hesitates. Erik’s breath catches in his throat, wondering how Charles is going to finish the sentence. The space between them narrows a little more; their faces are very close.

Charles leans back and Erik lets out the breath he was holding.

“Sometimes when I look at you, Erik, I can see your gift almost… _shining_ all around you. It’s tremendously powerful, and I simply don’t think you are fully aware of that.” Charles gives him a rueful smile, and Erik is irritated at himself for the strange hopeful feeling he had had just a moment before.

“Will you allow me to teach you?” Charles asks.

Erik reminds himself that those other feelings are merely an indulgence, an infatuation. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “What did you have in mind?”

“Excellent. I’ve come up with a couple of ideas for you, but first, I wanted to ask you what your own perceptions of your power are.” Charles is suddenly the professor, the teacher; even the set of his shoulders seems more scholarly. 

“You didn’t get a sense of that when you were in my head?”

“I was more concerned about your imminent death, and what was driving you to it,” says Charles, leaning towards Erik again. He touches Erik’s knee in a friendly pat, withdrawing his hand too soon. “Not to mention, sometimes it’s difficult to tease apart conscious from subconscious knowledge in a mind. I’d like to hear in your words what your power feels like, at least to start with.”

Erik rests his chin in one hand, thinking. With a laugh he says, “I never really thought about it.”

Charles’ eyes crinkle. “I know. Do try, though.”

Erik’s lips purse. He pulls an American quarter out of his pocket and lets it hang in the air in front of them as he considers the way it feels. Though he focuses on the gently spinning quarter in front of him, he can see Charles’ curious face looking back at him.

“Sometimes… It’s as if I can feel the metal calling to me. I can tell when it’s near me, how strong it is, if it will bend or break.” The quarter’s surface ripples, the metal moving like water with just a slight motion of Erik’s fingers. “But other times, the sense is very faint, or absent entirely. Sometimes I reach for the metal and there’s nothing there, no sense of it at all, and at those times I’m no more useful than a human.”

“How can you distinguish the metal’s characteristics?” Charles asks, watching the quarter with delight. “Is it a sense that feels like one of the five – sight, sound, smell, touch, taste? Can you compare it to any of them, or is it something different?”

Erik fidgets, trying to put the sensation into words. It is surprisingly difficult, though he feels a burgeoning pleasure at describing the one thing about himself that he is proud of. Shaw was never curious about how his ability worked, only what he could do with it, and it is refreshing to think of his gift not as a weapon, but as something that simply is. 

“I think it’s closest to touch, perhaps? But there may also be an element similar to smell and taste… different metals give a different sensation, when I concentrate on them.” He pulls out an old steel penny and sets it spinning to join its fellow. “The two of these feel different, not merely because they are of different sizes, but I can’t quite say how I can tell. And I think I need to see the metal to work with it, or at least catch a glance of it, to get an idea of where it is in space.”

“I thought you might have difficulty understanding your senses,” Charles says gently. “Raven had quite a lot of difficulty with her shifting when we were younger, and I found it hard to shut thoughts out when I needed to. I’d like to think I was able to teach us to control our abilities, and I’d like to do the same for you.”

“Raven tells me you’re a professor –“

“Oh, God, no!” Charles bursts out, grimacing.

Erik laughs. “And that you haven’t come to terms with being one yet,” he teases.

“Be that as it may, you are not to call me any iteration of ‘Professor.’ I won’t allow it,” says Charles, reaching down to get into his suitcase. He struggles with the zipper for a moment until Erik flicks his fingers and the zipper slides smoothly open. “Ah, thank you, Erik. As I was saying, it’s to be ‘Charles,’ or nothing at all.” He dives into the case and pulls out a long white silk scarf.

Seeing Erik’s look, Charles shakes his head. “It isn’t mine, it’s Raven’s. I borrowed it.”

“Hoping to update your look?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s for you, of course.”

Erik’s eyebrows rise so high that he feels them nearly disappearing into his hairline. “No, thank you. I prefer my current wardrobe.” He gestures to his black turtleneck and creased leather jacket.

“Don’t worry, my friend. I do admire your taste, but this is for work. May I?” He holds the scarf out between his hands.

“I trust you, Charles.” 

Charles gets to his feet and draws the scarf around Erik’s eyes, wrapping it around multiple times before tying it at the back of Erik’s head. The penny and quarter drop to the ground, making barely a sound on the carpeted floor. The material of the scarf is soft and smooth against his eyes. He can see only a white blur when he opens them and tries to peek. He feels Charles settle down onto the bench beside him, and hears the zipper of Charles’ luggage. Charles seats himself more securely on the bench and Erik can feel the warmth of him just a few inches away.

“Are we playing a game?”

“You can think of it as a game, if you like,” says Charles, and his voice is rich and amused. “Now, I have something here. I want to see if you can find it without using sight.”

Erik suppresses a grin. The scarf is slipping a little, the bottom edge of it tickling his nose. “Do you really think this will help me to hone my power?”

“Call it a question of curiosity, if you must,” says Charles wryly. “Can you feel this?”

Erik concentrates, but isn’t sure what he is supposed to be feeling. “Feel what?”

“Hm. Perhaps sight really is required… or perhaps you’re not focusing intently enough. I think you could do more. Try to reach out with your senses, whatever they may be, and see if you can tell what I’ve got in my hand.”

Erik bites back a noise of frustration, trying to focus. He thinks of trying to pull back that submarine, of the gates at the concentration camp, and tries to remember how they felt in his grasp.

“Have you found it yet?” Charles asks, and the puff of air from his words is light on Erik’s cheek.

“I feel you talk—“ Erik falters mid-word. There is something there, something besides the way that Charles fills the seat next to him, and he can almost see it in his mind’s eye, surround it with his awareness. It is something small and bright and clean, and it gives him a sharp taste in the back of his mouth. Excited, he focuses all of his energy on it, and reaches out into the air in front of him with one hand, straining.

“Erik?”

“I can feel it,” he says, his fingers quivering.

“How?”

“I can feel some other sense at work. It must be a way for me to sense the magnetic fields… It’s as if that is combining with touch, and sight, and even smell and taste… All of those are telling me you have something in your hand. I’m trying to get it.”

“Go on, then. Let’s see it.”

Erik’s hand shakes with the effort, and he thinks as hard as he can, focusing as thoroughly as possible. The fields bend and sway around the little object, giving him a picture of what it is…

“It’s a corkscrew,” he says, and wills for the object to move just as he starts to close his hand. The object is suddenly there in his palm and his fingers close over it, and he pulls off the scarf to look down at the corkscrew clutched in his grasp.

Charles leans against him, clapping him on the back. “Well done!” he laughs. “I knew you could do that, I knew it. Sight might make it easier, but you don’t need it.” Erik leans into Charles’ side, just slightly, his face creasing as he looks at the small corkscrew.

“Did you happen to bring any wine along with this?” asks Erik. “To ease the journey, that is.”

“And celebrate the beginning of your training! Alas, I did not. However, I think we’ll find our young mutant in a bar, and we’ll be able to indulge to our heart’s content once we’ve found her.” He flashes Erik a crisp smile and Erik lets himself stare, for just a moment, at the redness of the other man’s lips. “Now, I’ve brought along some other objects we can use for training. Let’s see if you can do that again,” says Charles, and Erik lets him pull the blindfold up again, enjoying how Charles’ fingers feel on his skin.

The next objects come a little more easily. Erik is starting to get the knack of relaxing his mind and his senses, letting the magnetism call to him. As the train ride continues, he starts to become aware of every bit of metal in their compartment. The metal on himself, of course, is familiar and fades into the background. But the metal in their luggage, in the walls of the train, in the window frame, in the lights begins to become clear. When he closes his eyes, it’s as if he can see parts of the compartment laid out before him. 

He can see part of Charles, as well. He becomes acutely aware of every sliver of metal on Charles’ body; the British and American coins in his pockets, the tiepin, the cufflinks, the metal eyelets on his shoes, the metal in his wristwatch. When he closes his eyes, he still sees Charles there beside him, Charles encouraging him, Charles pushing him. It makes him smile.

By the time they reach their destination, Erik is exhausted, and Charles is exultant, looking down at the pile of small objects Erik was able to identify and manipulate blindfolded. Coins, nails, watches, spoons, nuts and bolts, all of a variety of metals, all of them able to be sensed and worked with – eventually. Erik glares down at the small aluminum washer. He had sat for nearly an hour trying to feel that one before he gave up and Charles explained about aluminum’s paramagnetic properties. “With work I think you should still be able to sort it out,” he said, “but I’m not surprised it gave you such difficulty.”

Now Erik is tired, a full-body tiredness that’s worst in his head and fingertips. He gets stiffly to his feet as the train clatters to a stop. Charles looks up at him in concern.

“Are you all right, Erik?”

“I used to think I knew how to train myself, but apparently I was wrong,” says Erik. “That was like running a marathon before running a mile.” He tries to avoid wincing, but judging by the way Charles looks at him, he hasn’t avoided it entirely.

“I think I got carried away, I’m afraid. I remember I did the same thing with Raven. The first night I met her, I asked her to turn into about fifty different people: everyone from the gardener’s boy to the President of the United States. She slept for nearly an entire day afterward. Perhaps I need to learn to restrain my curiosity a bit better.” He looks slightly abashed as he stands up and collects his bag, grabbing Erik’s suitcase as well.

Erik cocks his head and opens his mouth to protest, but Charles hurries past him into the hallway before he can say anything or grab his suitcase back. Grudgingly, Erik lets him, and follows him out into the train station and to the street.

The hotel is surprisingly posh, Erik thinks, considering it is being paid for on the government’s dime; though to defray costs, he and Charles are sharing a room. They have a few hours to kill before Charles expects to find their mutant at her place of employment. Erik is eager to shower; he has become uncomfortably sweaty during the struggle for the aluminum. 

“I’ll be in the bath, Charles,” he says, tipping his head toward the bathroom. Charles nods, unpacking a grey suit and pulling out a thick novel to read.   
To Erik’s disappointment, the showerhead is one of those especially short models. He sighs, then, emboldened by his work with Charles, lifts his hand. The pipe attached to the showerhead thins and elongates until Erik can stand comfortably beneath it, and he grins.

The shower revives him, and it isn’t until he steps out onto the bath mat that he remembers his suit is still in his luggage. He grabs one of the towels and wraps it around his lower half without bothering to dry off. Water runs off him in rivulets as he steps back out into the other room.

Charles lifts his head at the motion. Erik isn’t sure, but it seems like Charles’ look lingers. Erik hurries to his suitcase and grabs his clothes, then looks back at Charles, who is still staring at him. Erik inhales sharply as he realizes there’s a pinkness rising in the other man’s normally pale cheeks. 

“Just forgot my clothes,” he says awkwardly, then turns and heads back into the bathroom, fighting his sudden arousal. Had he imagined that? He shakes the thought away. _It’s infatuation, nothing more,_ he thinks, and puts the matter out of his mind. They've got a mutant to find.

\---------------

Author's note: Writing Erik is quite a bit trickier than writing Charles; I kept having to hold back. He's such a reticent thing! 

Also good god I could write about mutant powers all fucking day long. I <3 MUTANTS. ESPECIALLY GAY ONES.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles' flirtations are infuriating... and irresistible, Erik discovers.

“Cheers!” Charles exclaims, clinking his shot glass against Erik’s. They gulp the liquor down and Erik’s mouth twists at the burning sensation. Was this one whiskey? Vodka? He can’t remember already. Once Angel had said she would come with them and told her boss she was quitting, they had set her up with her own hotel room. She had retired to the room for an early evening, but Charles, flush with success and the knowledge that his work with Cerebro was effective, had insisted they go back out for drinks.

Erik is no longer sure how much they’ve had. There was wine at Angel’s club, beer at the pub down the street, and now they’ve progressed to shots. He feels pleasantly warm. “Well done, Charles, indeed,” he says, with only a slight slur to the way he says _Charles_.

“It’s simply fascinating,” Charles pontificates, his face shining and his cheeks red. “To think I was able to find her from such a distance. Hank will be so excited to hear of how well Cerebro works. There are so many of us out there, so many more than I had ever dreamed or hoped. And I could feel them. It was like having the world spread out before me, with so many vistas – so many minds – to explore.”

“What does it feel like?” Erik interjects. “I told you what it feels like when I work. What does it feel like for you?” He edges closer to Charles, straining to hear the answer over the noise in the bar.

Charles looks at a loss for words and his nose and mouth crinkle in thought.

“You see, it’s more difficult than it looks,” says Erik, nudging Charles. Charles slaps his hand down on the bar as if for emphasis, except he hasn’t said anything yet.

“I do see that, Erik, thank you for making such an astute observation. Yes. Well. First, there is myself, my own consciousness, my own mind. I am always aware of that, on some level. I have touched minds where people go into a sort of trance, getting completely lost in some activity, almost shutting off consciousness entirely. That does not happen to me. Ever. I am always – awake. Even when I sleep, there’s still a level of awareness there that non-telepaths don’t share.”

He rubs at his chin, still thinking hard. “But then – and here’s where it starts to get quite interesting – I know there are others all around me. It’s like a combination of every mode your own brain uses for thought: sight, sound, emotion, memories of touch and smell.” He leans in to Erik further, giving him a cunning look: eyebrows arched, red mouth drawn up in a sly smile. “I can sense those other minds, constantly. To quiet them completely takes an enormous amount of effort and I don’t do it often. I’m always aware of them, and it’s always possible to explore those minds the way you can read the books in a library or the pages of a newspaper.”

“Do you touch those other minds often?” Erik asks. He is trying to avoid thinking of those lips, of grabbing Charles by the arms and kissing him. “It seems like you would have an ethical issue on your hands. After all you don’t go around and ask permission from everyone you hear, do you? Do you hold back?” 

Charles’ face darkens. “You do get right to the point of things, don’t you? Sometimes, at least.” He turns to the bartender and gestures for two more pints as Erik wonders what the last sentence meant. The bartender fulfills Charles’ request and Charles grabs the glasses, tossing his head toward an unoccupied booth in the corner. “Come on, then, shall we head somewhere more private?”

Erik follows him, sliding into one of the leather seats and laying his suit jacket beside him. He rolls up his shirt sleeves, keeping his tattooed forearm facing the table, and takes his drink from Charles, who climbs into the seat across from him.

“As I was saying,” Charles says, leaning forward across the table, “I’ve not had to describe it much before and I find my thoughts on it are a little… garbled right now.” He raises his glass and clinks it against Erik’s.

“I was asking about the ethics of it,” Erik reminds him.

Charles is focusing very intently on his drink, which is slowly losing its foamy head. Keeping his head down, he says, “It’s something I’ve struggled with since I was old enough to raise the question. Is it all right to enter someone’s mind on a lark? Is it acceptable to peek for something I really, truly need, for something that will serve the greater good? And there’s more than just reading people. I can make them do things, do exactly what I want them to do. I could make you do a splendid tap dance on this table before jumping off the roof of this building.” 

He swallows; his Adam’s apple jerks with the motion. His voice goes very soft. “I could pith people, Erik; wipe them clean of all memories, _tabula rasa,_ erase them forever. I don’t even think it would be difficult.” He looks sick at the thought, seeming to shrink in on himself in horror. Despite the redness that alcohol has raised in his cheeks, he looks even paler than usual, and the lines beneath his eyes look shadowed. “I would never want to do it. But just the fact that I _could_ – yes, I do wonder about it.”

He takes a long draft of his beer, shuddering a little. “Of course that sort of thing doesn’t come up terribly often. I usually have to worry more about little things. Privacy is always a concern, it’s something most people value highly… and I can shatter that without them even being the wiser. And I do, sometimes. Sometimes it’s for a good reason, or at least, what I think is a good reason… but other times, it’s simply for my own benefit, or because I’m curious. I did that with you.”

He takes another long pull of beer from his glass, fixing Erik with one of those heavy looks he has difficulty handling. The alcohol emboldens Erik, however, and he keeps his gaze. Charles’ eyes are terribly blue.

“How _did_ you know I was out there, that night? Were you looking for someone like me?”

“I wasn’t, not by that point. We’d found Shaw, his telepath ally was blocking me, and I’d given up on sending my awareness out there,” says Charles. “Really, you found me.”

Erik is baffled. “How?”

Charles’ mouth tucks up in one corner. “People with very… ah, very strong memories… It’s as if they’re shouting in a quiet room. The weight of everything you’ve felt, everything in your life; it screamed. When it hit me I about fell over from the shock of it. And in that connection, I went deeper than I needed to. I saw everything you had never intended to tell anyone.” He reaches out and puts a hand on Erik’s bare arm, squeezing gently for a moment before pulling back. “I’m sorry.”

Erik shakes his head, staring intently into Charles’ face. “You shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t have to hold back what you are, what you can do. And –“ He hesitates. “You don’t need to regret being in my head. You’re the only one I can trust, with what I am.”

Charles looks closely at him, and suddenly there is a small _a-ha!_ expression that flits across his face. Before Erik can comment on it, it is gone, and so is the moment. Erik focuses back on his glass and says quickly, “You didn’t really answer my question from earlier, about what it actually, physically feels like for you. I’m still curious.”

Charles’ fingers flex convulsively as if he wants to raise them to his temple. Instead he says, “Can I show you? That would be easiest.”

Erik nods. “Of course.”

Charles’ fingers settle into their familiar position at his head. Erik opens his mouth to ask why Charles seems to need the crutch – though perhaps it’s like the way manipulating metal feels so much easier when his fingers move – but then Charles is there in his head.

 _I’m going to try and show you what I seefeelhearsense,_ Charles says into his mind, the last word a jumbled mishmash of several syllables. Erik takes a deep breath, and then he’s clutching the edge of the table, riveted.

Somehow Charles has fed some part of his mind into Erik’s, or maybe ushered a part of Erik into himself. It’s dizzying, disorienting, and Erik feels nauseous at the way Charles is shoehorning Erik’s consciousness into the madhouse Charles feels all around him. There are rushes, gouts of others’ thoughts flooding into his mind in torrents. The people in the bar have become a cacophonous maelstrom, their thoughts crashing into Charles’ – into Erik’s – awareness. Somehow he gets a distant sense of Charles sitting back, able to see through the stream of thoughts and sift them into some semblance of organization and order. Charles feels unperturbed by the rush of thoughts and feelings, but his calm acceptance of the thoughts doesn’t seem to be transferring over to Erik. Erik feels bombarded by the wants, the needs, the lies, the fears of the man tending bar, the woman making eyes at the pair of them, the couple at the table behind them…

 _I think it was difficult in the beginning,_ Charles sends to him, _but now it’s simply life to me._ Erik feels him pulling up mental barriers, slowly quieting the frenzy of people outside of them. Charles directs them to look at the man behind the bar, and somehow Charles focuses on him, and Erik can hear his every thought with incredible clarity. It’s a horrifying tangle of the mundane, the annoying, and the downright depressing. Charles releases his focus on the man and selects the woman, and riffles through her memories in a blinding flash. Erik barely understands the massive influx of raw data contained in the woman’s past memories and current thoughts, but he can feel Charles’ easy understanding, can see him cataloguing information and separating the useful from the useless in the space of a few seconds. To Erik it is a swirling mess, sickening, incomprehensible, mad --

“Stop,” Erik croaks, and with that word he’s back fully in his own head, leaning over the table to press the heels of his hands against his eyes. The regular sounds of the bar, clashing glasses and raised voices and piped in music, are a relief after the din of the humans’ thoughts.

“Did that alarm you?” comes Charles’ voice.

“Fuck, Charles,” Erik growls. “How do you _live_ like that?”

Charles grabs Erik’s wrists and pulls his hands away from his face, releasing them when Charles is able to look back into his eyes. “I have to apologize to you again, don’t I,” he says in a low voice. “I’ve never brought someone in like that before. It was very difficult. I shouldn’t have done it, or at least, I should have waited until I was sober. My control isn’t as fine like this. I get sloppy.”

Erik waves Charles’ protests away. “It wasn’t you. It was _them_. How do you stand it, all of those minds surrounding you, shouting at you like that?”

“I usually don’t let them shout,” says Charles with some surprise. “They weren’t shouting just now, that was the level I normally keep them at.”

“If that wasn’t shouting, I shudder to think of what it’s like when _you_ feel overwhelmed by it.” 

He is beginning to realize how dangerous Charles could be. Erik prefers to use his powers of observation on others, not on studying himself, but even so, he is aware of certain facts about himself. Erik knows he is a masterful man; he’s seen it on the faces of the men he’s hunted and killed. He knows the violence in him hums just beneath the surface, and that unless he makes an effort to conceal it, others sense it and fear it, and fear him. These things have been plain to him since he was a very young man.

In Charles, the danger is deeply veiled. It is only just now that Erik begins to see what Charles could be capable of. Erik has killed people, and will kill again. But Charles could completely nullify them, eliminating them so completely that they could be removed from all human memory. And yet he would not do such a thing: a fact Erik knows with certainty.

He shivers, desire raging in him. To be faced with such a remarkable man, a man with such intellect, such passion, such power…

“Erik?”

Erik shakes himself from his reverie and says, his voice low, “You’re a dangerous man, Charles.”

“Yes,” Charles says quietly. His lips curl into a conspiratorial grin, and the way his eyes crinkle and his eyebrows rise is positively wicked in nature. “We both are, aren’t we?”

Erik sucks in a breath between his teeth, and lets it out slowly. Does Charles know what he’s doing to Erik? Whether or not Charles knows, Erik can’t take it anymore. The urge to grab Charles by the front of his shirt and haul him over the table to kiss him is almost unbearable. Erik’s fingers are twitching and the lamp overhead begins to sway, then bend. With a great effort he stills his hands and says, “Shouldn’t we be getting back to the hotel?”

Charles checks his watch. “Good Lord. I’m afraid you’re right. Let me go take care of the tab.” He slides out of the booth and gets to his feet. “I’ll meet you out front, shall I?” he says, and heads to the bar.

Erik gets up, grabbing his jacket, and moves past the few patrons still left in the bar. The door opens before him without him touching it, and he hurries out of it before anyone can notice. He seems to be sublimating his frustration into his ability, and he frowns at the loss of control. He moves to the curb, leaning against a light post, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers as he stares out into the street.

He doesn’t know how he is supposed to stay so calm when Charles lights him up in ways he didn’t know were possible. He thought he had been a monster beyond repair, and yet Charles sees in him something worthy, something fascinating. Charles trusts him enough to share his gift with him: _I’ve never brought someone in like that before._ But he doesn’t seem to see how he riles Erik so.

Erik stiffens against the lamp post and feels it shaking, his power making it vibrate. Though Erik is still looking into the street, he can feel that behind him, Charles is walking through the bar doors. Erik can tell it’s him by the same metal he had memorized in the train. Without turning around, Erik says loudly, “What took you so long?”

Charles, still a few feet away, stops. Erik turns to look at him and notices he seems unnerved. “How did you know I was there? I thought I was being quiet.”

“You were. I could feel your metal getting closer,” Erik says, shrugging.

“All right, but how did you know it was _me_ , and not somebody else?”

“I told you,” says Erik pointedly. “ _Your_ metal.” His face breaks into a rueful smile. “I suppose I memorized it during our work today.”

Charles closes the gap between them, tugging at his lower lip with his teeth. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it again. 

“Spit it out, Charles. The night is late.”

“I could find the answer out if I wanted to,” he says. “But I want to hear it from you.” Erik can feel the heat between them; Charles is close to him, now, too close, less than a foot of space between them. Out of the corner of his eyes Erik looks up and down the street; they are alone.

“You want to hear the answer to…?” His breath hitches in his throat.

“Erik… are you attracted to me?”

Erik stares at him, completely nonplussed. _Fuck._ Charles looks up at him in complete seriousness, his lips pursed, his eyes questioning. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Erik snarls. He pushes past Charles and marches down the street, calling behind him, “It seems you’ve already guessed!” He’s furious at how transparent he must have been, at the cool way Charles seems to have merely regarded it as a curiosity. He grabs his suit jacket and shoves his arms into it as he hurries down the street. Predictably, between Charles’ footsteps and his metal, Erik knows Charles is chasing after him. 

He allows Charles to catch up to him at the entrance to an alley just behind their hotel. Charles grabs him by the arm and Erik shakes him off. “I suppose you’ve been enjoying this?” he spits.

“Well – to be frank, a little,” says Charles, and Erik shoves him backward. Charles stumbles, catching himself before he trips.

“What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing at anything,” Charles says, straightening up and, for some reason, laughing. “I’ve been enjoying it because I feel the _same way_ , you idiot!”

“I – you _what_?” Erik is completely dumbfounded. Everything pulls into sharp, bright focus and all of the moments he’d assumed Charles couldn’t _really_ be flirting hit him with an incredible impact. “But that’s impossible. Raven said –“

“You’ve been listening to her, have you? She’s only got part of the story, I’m afraid. I do _prefer_ women, if you must know. But that doesn’t preclude being, ah, intrigued by the right man,” says Charles, brushing his suit where Erik had rumpled the front of it. “It’s a much more common state than people know of, actually…” He gives Erik one of those terribly charming smiles. “At any rate, I don’t flirt this incessantly with just anyone.”

“God _damn_ it, Charles!” Erik’s hands jerk forward and he grabs Charles by the shoulders, then pulls the other man into a kiss that’s hard and clumsy and exactly what he’s been looking for. Charles reaches up and twists his fingers into Erik’s hair, bringing him even closer so their bodies are pressed into each other. They break apart, gasping.

“Should we go upstairs?” Charles asks, his chest heaving, his face red. Erik looks into his open mouth and shudders with longing.

“Why, don’t want anyone to see us?”

“I’m not concerned about that – I could easily redirect anyone who happened to see us – but it _has_ just occurred to me that we have some most excellent beds at our disposal.”

Erik hurries back to the hotel so quickly that Charles has to jog to keep up with him.

They enter the hotel quietly, an energy thrumming between them. They pass by the night staff without a glance, then wait, impatiently, for the elevator. It seems an eternity. Erik wants to start ripping Charles’ clothes off in the lobby, night staff be damned, and quivers with frustration.

 _It’s only a few more moments,_ Charles speaks into his mind, and Erik draws in a deep breath.

“I don’t want to wait anymore,” he says, very quietly, and Charles winks at him as the elevator doors open. They slip inside, and as soon as they select their floor and the doors rattle closed he’s got Charles slammed up against the corner, his hands on Charles’ neck and his thumbs against his cheeks, pulling the other man’s face to his own. Charles’ mouth is unbearably slick and hot and Erik presses up against him, covering his body with his own.

The lift stops moving and Erik quickly extricates himself from Charles, looking straight ahead as the doors open. It’s their floor, and they hurry down the hallway to their room. Charles gets the door and lets them in, then closes the door behind them.

They look at each other.

Erik isn’t sure what happens first. He and Charles move at the same time and in a tangle of limbs they’re on Charles’ bed, tearing at each other’s clothing, kissing hard enough to bruise. Charles gets Erik’s jacket and tie off and manages to rip one of the shirt’s shoulders. Erik strips Charles naked to the waist, buttons flying everywhere, and goes frenziedly for his belt and zipper. In a flurry they’re kicking off shoes, trousers, socks, underthings until Charles straddles him about the waist and Erik lets out a long groan at the feel of the other man’s skin. 

“You should have said something sooner,” Erik says thickly, pulling down Charles for one of those raw kisses. He grabs at him, unable to get enough of his skin. 

Charles’ cock is pressed against his stomach and Erik thrusts against Charles’ thigh at the way it feels. He reaches between them to take hold of Charles’ cock.

“I didn’t want to alienate you, if you didn’t feel – ahh – the same way,” Charles breathes, arching upward into Erik’s hand. 

“But you could have just looked –“ Erik touches the side of Charles’ face with a shaking hand, then gives Charles’ cock a swift, sure pull. Charles writhes.

“Wanted to leave you – some privacy,” he chokes out, then catches Erik off guard with a deep kiss. Erik wraps his arms around him, pulling him even closer. 

Charles breaks out of the embrace, then sits back and snakes a hand down between Erik’s legs. Erik is now the one panting at the feel of Charles’ fingers firmly encircling his shaft. Charles strokes him, slowly at first, then more insistently, and Erik is throwing his head back against the covers. Charles releases him and bends low over him. Erik kisses him hard at the junction between his neck and shoulder, leaving a red mark at the collarbone, then breaks off to gasp as Charles grinds against him. His cock throbs , and his hips buck against the other man. Charles’ tongue slips against Erik’s jaw and he lets out a strangled groan at how warm and wet it is.

Erik rears up, knocking Charles back down to the bed to lay on his back. Erik holds him there, one hand on his chest. “Thank God you said something,” Erik pants, greatly enjoying the view of Charles below him with one arm up behind his head. “I couldn’t have waited much longer for this.” With that he inches backward on the bed, then gives Charles a broad smile before lowering his mouth to the other man’s cock.

Sliding his lips down Charles’ shaft is immensely satisfying for the way Charles hisses, then groans, long and low and guttural. Experimentally Erik swirls his tongue against the tip, and Charles’ hips jerk upwards involuntarily as he moans, “That isn’t _fair_.”

“No. It isn’t,” Erik admits, his mouth still loosely encircling Charles’ dick, and Charles shivers at the way the sound vibrates against him. He moves his tongue up, then down in one long, languid lick, then holds his lips firmly against the shaft and takes Charles as deep as he can. He’s rewarded with a sharp gasp from Charles, who sits up and gives Erik a look of half pleasure, half exasperation.

“That does it,” says Charles, and raises a trembling hand to his temple. _If you’re going to tease me, I’ll do the same,_ he says into Erik’s mind.

“Do your worst,” Erik says, then takes Charles deeply again for one, two, three thrusts. Suddenly Erik is on his back, Charles is sucking him, he’s bucking and writhing against the headboard and how did he even get like this from his previous position, this doesn’t actually make sense, they skipped a step –

The vision fades and Erik is looking back at Charles in confusion, back on his knees between Charles’ legs. The other man’s mouth twists in an evil grin as he taps the side of his head. “I warned you.”

“You _ass_!” Erik scowls at him even as he feels a combination of amusement and shock that Charles could make him feel physical sensation so convincingly. “You know, if you keep that up, I won’t be able to do anything for you.”

“I know,” Charles says. “That’s why I’m going to do this instead.”

Erik slides Charles deep into his mouth again. Charles moans, and as he does so, the vision of Erik in Charles’ position blooms again in his mind. His cock throbs. Erik reels from what Charles is doing in his head, the almost unbearable pleasure radiating from that bright point of Charles’ presence. The pleasure spikes again and again, any time Charles’ cock hits the back of Erik’s throat, or Erik swirls his tongue against the spot between the glans and the shaft. Charles groans in both his ears and his head, and he’s lost in the sensations, engulfed.

It’s frightening, such a loss of control, but it’s intoxicating as well. The images Charles sends are much more than mere pictures or films; they’re completely immersive. It’s as if he’s living in two worlds at the same time: the world where he’s between Charles’ legs with his lips around Charles’ cock, and the world where he’s the one on his back and Charles is licking, tugging, sucking, sliding him in and out between those red, red lips… And somehow both worlds are equally true, and equally felt, so that his cock twitches in Charles’ mouth even as Charles groans for him. Instead of before, when he could only feel what Charles wanted him to feel, he’s now balanced between reality and Charles’ fantasy, viewing both of them, and it’s stunning.

In the excitement of what he’s doing to Charles and what Charles is doing to him, all of Erik’s senses are heightened. Every scrap of metal in the room and the surrounding parts of the hotel becomes crystallized in his mind, shimmering in his mind’s eye along with all of the sensation Charles is sending him. The bed shudders underneath them with Erik’s trembling and Charles, warningly, says _Erik! I don’t want to have to pay for that if you break it!_

Erik lets out a barklike laugh. He tamps down on his magnetism and reins it in as much as possible, confining it to the nightstand, which twitches and rocks back and forth before stilling as Erik calms himself. _Don’t worry,_ says Charles. _Someday I’ll bring you to my home, and you can destroy whatever you like._

“I’d like that,” Erik pants, the words almost lost in the ragged breaths tearing themselves from his mouth. “Fuck, Charles, how can you –“ He goes unintelligible, then, words lost to him.

It’s as if a third reality is beginning to bleed around the edges of the fantasy Charles is crafting for him, and the real, physical action of sucking Charles off. The third reality is Charles’ experiences. Every swirl of Erik’s tongue is telegraphed to him through Charles, so that he’s both Charles and himself, torn between giving physical pleasure, receiving a mental version of it, and then receiving the effects of his ministrations. The full knowledge of what he’s doing to Charles is unbearably arousing; he hears Charles’ groans with his ears and mind, and feels the groans coming out of Charles’ mouth with this new connection, feels them like it’s himself making those noises. The whole experience is like every kind of pornographic image at once, combined with self-pleasure and fantasy, overlaid with fucking and being fucked; it’s all endured at once in a roiling wave of lust, affection and pure physical need. It’s bizarre, and dizzying, and so fucking hot that his mind and his cock feel scorched with it. 

He is determined, through the haze of thoughts and impressions, to make Charles come. He grasps him firmly in one hand and strokes, hard and fast, as he takes Charles deeply into his mouth. Charles’ breathing takes on a new, frantic pitch and he reaches down to tangle his hands in Erik’s hair. As he does, the flood of perception in Erik’s mind takes on a new level of frenzy. Sound and images roar in his mind, a multitude of them: Charles bending Erik over in their train car with their clothes half on, Erik pinning Charles against a shower wall, hasty blowjobs in backseats and elevators and libraries, Erik gasping Charles’ name again and again, Charles’ face contorting as he comes, sweat and saliva and the feel of skin on skin, kissing sucking fucking, an endless array of _you me yes, yes, yes_ –

Charles comes in Erik’s mouth, then, howling in ecstasy; at the same time, Erik’s mind whites out with sheer, unbearable, agonizing pleasure and it’s only distantly he realizes that he’s coming too. The wave of Charles’ orgasm is an onslaught his mind can scarcely cope with, and it’s all that he can do to cling to Charles’ hips as he’s overwhelmed. The whiteout fades to darkness for a few seconds or maybe a few days, it’s hard to tell which.

“Erik,” says Charles, from very far away. Erik blinks, his breathing gradually slowing. He feels utterly weak and boneless; it seems to take him ages to lift his head up to look at Charles, who gives him a tired smile. “I hope that wasn’t too much for you.”

Erik’s mind feels strangely empty; a single reality feels so thin after the explosion of scenarios and feelings Charles had given him. Even the colors of the room seem dimmer. He swallows, tasting Charles on his tongue. “In some ways it was.” He clambers up onto his hands and knees, moving up on the bed to settle down against Charles. “But I think I could get used to it.” He grins.

Charles laughs, resting his head against Erik’s shoulders as he stretches out. “I could arrange that.”

Erik reaches out and turns off the lamp. In the darkness Charles is warm against him; his breathing slows, heralding approaching sleep. Erik is weary, too, but something keeps him awake. There’s something else he wants to do.

“Charles.”

“Yes, Erik?” Charles’ voice is already going groggy.

“You…” He hesitates, but considers: he has already revealed so much today, what is a little more? “You know what I am, and what I’ve done.”

“Yes, I do.”

“So I’m certain you know that I – do not really have an understanding of what it means, to care for someone.” He shies away from using another word, one even more loaded than what he’s just said. He’s not sure he’ll ever say that word.

Charles shifts, sliding an arm around Erik’s shoulders, and he presses his lips to Erik’s neck. “I do know it.”

“However, if anyone could teach me what that means, I think it would be you.”

Charles’ breath is soft against Erik’s skin. “My friend, what do you think I’ve been trying to do this whole time?”

Erik chuckles, then turns his head to kiss Charles in a kiss much more gentle than any they’ve shared so far. It feels strange, but good. “My eternal gratitude… Professor.”

Charles mock-punches him in the side and Erik can hear the mingled scowl and smile in his voice as he says, “That was uncalled for.” Another kiss, and then, “You know, we really ought to get some sleep. Our train leaves early.” A longer, softer kiss. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” says Erik, and relishes the way Charles curls behind him as they drift off into sleep. 

During the night Erik learns several new things. He learns that Charles snores lightly the entire night, and that he is in fact an insufferable blanket stealer. Charles is also revealed to possess surprisingly knobby knees and sharp elbows, and has an uncanny knack for poking Erik in the back most uncomfortably. It’s peculiar sharing a bed all night with someone; Erik has not had a lot of practice. Every time he rolls over Charles is there with his snoring or his elbows or his hoard of blankets. It’s odd.

Erik finds it’s the best he’s slept in years.

\------------------

Author's note: Random things about this -- I greatly enjoy Charles the flirting manwhore, telepathic sex, and the idea that Charles' telepathy is a fucking _scary_ mutation. I'd write dark!Charles but I think it would scare me. So I've been keeping him fluffy but also acknowledging just how fucking powerful he really could be.

god I love this fandom so freaking much hahaha


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